Dark Horse
Always running
Behind the gaudy star
Closing in 'til the very end
Winner.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Labels
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." Perhaps no other falsehood is so often quoted by the young. Yet it tells us something about human nature: Invented as a defense against a juvenile onslaught, it verbalized the pain a "name" had caused. The truth is, physical abuse hurts the body, but words assault the soul.
We use names to categorize people. We prejudge them with one word labels (radical, liberal, fundamentalist) and file them away in our mental data banks. We are no longer threatened with friendship. We are protected from the vulnerability of a relationship.
"Him? He's strange." No need now to lend a hand. Her? She's plain." No need now to look for beauty. "Them? They're just a bunch of fanatics." No need now to understand.
By categorizing people, we build what we presume are walls of security. In reality, they make us isolated prisoners. Labels push us away from people so that we do not have to accept our differences- or even face them.
Call me "stupid" and I will make no attempt to learn. Call me "rich" and I will have nothing else to share. Call me "perfect" and I will mask my weakness. Call me "carnal," and I will cease to pray.
If we are ever going to love each other or achieve any sense of unity, we must end this distancing process. No man is one-dimensional. We must be willing to learn more about a brother than what he wears or how he looks. We must accept and encourage him where he stands. Love must come before labels. Perhaps Leo Buscaglia, popular writer and professor at University of Southern California, put it best: "There is no word vast enough to begin to describe even the simplest of man."
We use names to categorize people. We prejudge them with one word labels (radical, liberal, fundamentalist) and file them away in our mental data banks. We are no longer threatened with friendship. We are protected from the vulnerability of a relationship.
"Him? He's strange." No need now to lend a hand. Her? She's plain." No need now to look for beauty. "Them? They're just a bunch of fanatics." No need now to understand.
By categorizing people, we build what we presume are walls of security. In reality, they make us isolated prisoners. Labels push us away from people so that we do not have to accept our differences- or even face them.
Call me "stupid" and I will make no attempt to learn. Call me "rich" and I will have nothing else to share. Call me "perfect" and I will mask my weakness. Call me "carnal," and I will cease to pray.
If we are ever going to love each other or achieve any sense of unity, we must end this distancing process. No man is one-dimensional. We must be willing to learn more about a brother than what he wears or how he looks. We must accept and encourage him where he stands. Love must come before labels. Perhaps Leo Buscaglia, popular writer and professor at University of Southern California, put it best: "There is no word vast enough to begin to describe even the simplest of man."
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Knock of God
O. Hallesby, in his classic book entitled Prayer, brings prayer down to its basic elements. For him, prayer is simply our answer to the invitation of God for our fellowship. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock."
To Hallesby, this is the essence of prayer- to respond to the knock of God. Before we ever hold our hands or bend our knees, the rap on the door- that gentle tapping- has already sounded. We need never fear that one day we will awake to silence, the profound loneliness of a man without his God. Christ's desire for our fellowship is consistent. He is knocking; our response awaits.
Throughout Hallesby's treatise is the continual refrain: "To pray is to let Jesus come into our hearts." Do we feel frustrated and helpless? Will not the One who knocks provide? Do we need revival? Is not the promise "I will come in to him and will sup with him" the place where revival begins? Do we need forgiveness? Would the One who knocks so tenderly ever withhold it?
If this is prayer, we have but one responsibility- to let Him in. We do not need to storm heaven with bold and reckess demands; nor do we need to fear that our faith is not strong enough to gain His ear. It is only a question of the will. Once I put my hand to the knob and swing wide the door, prayer -and real friendship- begins.
One day the Lover came, his head drenched with dew. He came with grace and tenderness, words sweet and compelling. But the Beloved had retired. Tiredness and self-concern held her back: "I have taken off my robe- must I put it on again?" She hesitated too long and her Lover slipped off into the night. She did finally answer the door; then love replaced apathy. "My heart began to pound for Him... my heart sank at his departure... if you find my lover, tell him I am faint with love.
Can we not empathize with her words? Is it not the same when we hear the knock of God? The beloved need not fear, her lover will return to knock again. So will Christ. This time, let us also answer.
To Hallesby, this is the essence of prayer- to respond to the knock of God. Before we ever hold our hands or bend our knees, the rap on the door- that gentle tapping- has already sounded. We need never fear that one day we will awake to silence, the profound loneliness of a man without his God. Christ's desire for our fellowship is consistent. He is knocking; our response awaits.
Throughout Hallesby's treatise is the continual refrain: "To pray is to let Jesus come into our hearts." Do we feel frustrated and helpless? Will not the One who knocks provide? Do we need revival? Is not the promise "I will come in to him and will sup with him" the place where revival begins? Do we need forgiveness? Would the One who knocks so tenderly ever withhold it?
If this is prayer, we have but one responsibility- to let Him in. We do not need to storm heaven with bold and reckess demands; nor do we need to fear that our faith is not strong enough to gain His ear. It is only a question of the will. Once I put my hand to the knob and swing wide the door, prayer -and real friendship- begins.
One day the Lover came, his head drenched with dew. He came with grace and tenderness, words sweet and compelling. But the Beloved had retired. Tiredness and self-concern held her back: "I have taken off my robe- must I put it on again?" She hesitated too long and her Lover slipped off into the night. She did finally answer the door; then love replaced apathy. "My heart began to pound for Him... my heart sank at his departure... if you find my lover, tell him I am faint with love.
Can we not empathize with her words? Is it not the same when we hear the knock of God? The beloved need not fear, her lover will return to knock again. So will Christ. This time, let us also answer.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Comparison Christianity
Who am I? What is it that gives me value and worth? Am I pleasing God? Will I ever be content with myself and my contribution?
When I begin to answer these questions, my natural inclination is to look sideways at my brother. I begin to develop scales upon which to weigh our efforts. If I am smarter or stronger or more spiritual, then I am worthwhile. If I fall short in any of these areas, then I am inferior and I swallow the bitterness of jealousy and self-condemnation. If I allow myself to continue along this neurotic path, I will soon be speaking in superlatives and will have enslaved myself to an impossible dream.
This strange malady breeds well in Christian circles. If my numbers or dollars or buildings or buses measure well against your numbers or dollars or buildings or buses, then my ministry has value. This comparison, along any line, brings competition. And if I see that you are running too far ahead, I will break fellowship. I will find some chink in your armor and rationalize my superiority. Now comparison has bred criticism.
"Each one should carry his own load" (see Galatian 6). When I look inside, I see my own strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices. I have my own gifts and my own responsibilities. I am an individual. To compare myself with you is to deny my uniqueness. I will test my actions in a divine mirror. I can take pride in myself because of my growth without ever looking at what you are doing. If I see distortion in the mirror, I find no condemnation. I admit weakness and consider it a challenge to change.
"Carry each other's burdens." Comparison will never breed cooperation. We will never work together if I measure myself against you. Instead, I must rejoice in your strength when I am weak and be grateful for the strength I possess when you stumble.
It seems a general rule that in competition there must always be a "winner" and a "loser," the "victor" and the "vanquished." This is not true when comparision enters Christianity. We both lose.
When I begin to answer these questions, my natural inclination is to look sideways at my brother. I begin to develop scales upon which to weigh our efforts. If I am smarter or stronger or more spiritual, then I am worthwhile. If I fall short in any of these areas, then I am inferior and I swallow the bitterness of jealousy and self-condemnation. If I allow myself to continue along this neurotic path, I will soon be speaking in superlatives and will have enslaved myself to an impossible dream.
This strange malady breeds well in Christian circles. If my numbers or dollars or buildings or buses measure well against your numbers or dollars or buildings or buses, then my ministry has value. This comparison, along any line, brings competition. And if I see that you are running too far ahead, I will break fellowship. I will find some chink in your armor and rationalize my superiority. Now comparison has bred criticism.
"Each one should carry his own load" (see Galatian 6). When I look inside, I see my own strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices. I have my own gifts and my own responsibilities. I am an individual. To compare myself with you is to deny my uniqueness. I will test my actions in a divine mirror. I can take pride in myself because of my growth without ever looking at what you are doing. If I see distortion in the mirror, I find no condemnation. I admit weakness and consider it a challenge to change.
"Carry each other's burdens." Comparison will never breed cooperation. We will never work together if I measure myself against you. Instead, I must rejoice in your strength when I am weak and be grateful for the strength I possess when you stumble.
It seems a general rule that in competition there must always be a "winner" and a "loser," the "victor" and the "vanquished." This is not true when comparision enters Christianity. We both lose.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Years the Locusts Have Eaten
"I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten- the great locust and the young locust- the other locusts and the locust swarm- my great army that I sent among you." (Joel 2:28)
They just kept coming. The skies were dark with their invasion. Locusts were as bad as any army. They came through the doors and windows. They were in the bed at night and in the grain for the morning meal. The land was devastated and the economy had collapsed.
The people of Judah had experienced four waves of locusts. Worse was the knowledge that God had sent them. "The Lord thunders at the head of his army, his forces are numberless... who can endure it?" (2:11)
Joel, the clearsighted prophet of God, came to the mourning nation with a message of hope: "Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your god for He is gracious... abounding in love." Joel even promised that God would "restore the years that the locusts have eaten."
Many of us in the postmodern world understand locusts. Our lives are a desert and we know why. Our past is littered with the judgment of God. Now we wonder if return is possible, if it is too late to love Him. And so, Joel's promise is to us as well: "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten."
That is promise enough to return.
They just kept coming. The skies were dark with their invasion. Locusts were as bad as any army. They came through the doors and windows. They were in the bed at night and in the grain for the morning meal. The land was devastated and the economy had collapsed.
The people of Judah had experienced four waves of locusts. Worse was the knowledge that God had sent them. "The Lord thunders at the head of his army, his forces are numberless... who can endure it?" (2:11)
Joel, the clearsighted prophet of God, came to the mourning nation with a message of hope: "Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your god for He is gracious... abounding in love." Joel even promised that God would "restore the years that the locusts have eaten."
Many of us in the postmodern world understand locusts. Our lives are a desert and we know why. Our past is littered with the judgment of God. Now we wonder if return is possible, if it is too late to love Him. And so, Joel's promise is to us as well: "I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten."
That is promise enough to return.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Adam's Legacy: Remember Me...
Let no exegete of death
wax eloquent on my grave
Rhetoric masks rebellion
and redemption lies victim to
pride.
Nor admit the scavengers-
Who pluck the bones of character,
Image and Likeness are honorable
Remaining marks of the Creator.
Extremes are grievous errors
Respect remains in man, yet
No forgiveness can follow pride.
Only Truth can tell my story,
And the story of those who follow.
Remember me in accordance with the Truth.
wax eloquent on my grave
Rhetoric masks rebellion
and redemption lies victim to
pride.
Nor admit the scavengers-
Who pluck the bones of character,
Image and Likeness are honorable
Remaining marks of the Creator.
Extremes are grievous errors
Respect remains in man, yet
No forgiveness can follow pride.
Only Truth can tell my story,
And the story of those who follow.
Remember me in accordance with the Truth.
Bait and Switch Church Marketing
The contemporary church, embracing marketing, now has all the integrity of a used car salesman. We poll the public to see what its felt needs are and then strive to meet them, rarely reminding ourselves that what the public desperately needs is Jesus. When we remember, we try to slip in the Four Spiritual Laws at the end of our laser light show.
Here's the problem: When we do that, we are guilty of a most deplorable "bait and switch." There are several consequences: The one who is converted to Christ because of the light show will remain faithful only in so long as he is entertained. This entertainment will slowly lose its attraction and so the puffery of a laser light show must become grander still. Worse, the church must compete with the titillating entertainment industry where it will always run behind as a cheap imitator.
We soothe our consciences by counting heads at our laser light show and the number of decisions made at the end (often understood as the price of admittance). Those who are genuinely converted are left to wonder why they had to be drawn to Christ by such a show of lights. Is there something about Jesus that is being hidden in the fine print of their new contract? As an evangelism scheme, the laserlight show has dubious merit. As a way to conduct worship, it smells of sulfur.
Christians have come to expect the laser light show, and like true consumers, they will go to where they can get the best show and the best deal. They know nothing of corporate prayer, accountability, mentoring, sacrifice, or spiritual growth. They worship enthusiastically when the laser light show is better than last year and complain when the church across the street is offering a better one. Worse, Christians want the best laserlight show they can afford for their children. What if the church cannot attract them? What if they head for college and abandon the faith of their fathers? Have we done all we can to reach them if we haven't had the best laser light show in town? This would all be ridiculous if I hadn't looked into the pleading eyes of parents willing to buy the equipment to restore their wayward child.
When they act like this, they betray themselves. They reveal in their complaints that they have never met Jesus. Not as Living Water, or Light of the World, or the Bread of Life. Not as Shepherd, Friend, Guide, or Judge. They have never felt His piercing gaze or seen Him in His glory. Their actions reveal them as strangers, for if they truly knew Him at all- the laser light show would be a colossal waste of time and money. Jesus Himself is far more attractive, far more beautiful than anything that can light up the night sky. Give the consumer Jesus first and while you may never be able to convince him of the virtures of a laser light show, you will have his attention when you talk about his Savior.
Here's the problem: When we do that, we are guilty of a most deplorable "bait and switch." There are several consequences: The one who is converted to Christ because of the light show will remain faithful only in so long as he is entertained. This entertainment will slowly lose its attraction and so the puffery of a laser light show must become grander still. Worse, the church must compete with the titillating entertainment industry where it will always run behind as a cheap imitator.
We soothe our consciences by counting heads at our laser light show and the number of decisions made at the end (often understood as the price of admittance). Those who are genuinely converted are left to wonder why they had to be drawn to Christ by such a show of lights. Is there something about Jesus that is being hidden in the fine print of their new contract? As an evangelism scheme, the laserlight show has dubious merit. As a way to conduct worship, it smells of sulfur.
Christians have come to expect the laser light show, and like true consumers, they will go to where they can get the best show and the best deal. They know nothing of corporate prayer, accountability, mentoring, sacrifice, or spiritual growth. They worship enthusiastically when the laser light show is better than last year and complain when the church across the street is offering a better one. Worse, Christians want the best laserlight show they can afford for their children. What if the church cannot attract them? What if they head for college and abandon the faith of their fathers? Have we done all we can to reach them if we haven't had the best laser light show in town? This would all be ridiculous if I hadn't looked into the pleading eyes of parents willing to buy the equipment to restore their wayward child.
When they act like this, they betray themselves. They reveal in their complaints that they have never met Jesus. Not as Living Water, or Light of the World, or the Bread of Life. Not as Shepherd, Friend, Guide, or Judge. They have never felt His piercing gaze or seen Him in His glory. Their actions reveal them as strangers, for if they truly knew Him at all- the laser light show would be a colossal waste of time and money. Jesus Himself is far more attractive, far more beautiful than anything that can light up the night sky. Give the consumer Jesus first and while you may never be able to convince him of the virtures of a laser light show, you will have his attention when you talk about his Savior.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)